He took the volume to the retreat of the desk, and there turned over its
pages of coloured illustrations. At first his interest in them, and in
the letterpress, was less instinctive than deliberate. He said to
himself: "Now, if there is anything in me, I ought really to be
interested in this, and I must be interested in it." And he was. He
glanced carelessly at the clock, which was hung above the shelves of
exercise-books and notebooks, exactly opposite the door. A quarter past
four. The afternoon was quietly passing, and he had not found it too
tedious. In the background of the task which (he considered) he had
accomplished with extraordinary efficiency, his senses noted faintly the
continual trickle of customers, all of whom were infallibly drawn to
Miss Ingamells's counter by her mere watchful and receptive appearance.
He had heard phrases and ends of phrases, such as: "No, we haven't
anything smaller," "A camel-hair brush," "Gum but not glue," "Very
sorry, sir. I'll speak firmly to the paper boy," and the sound of coins
dragged along the counter, the sound of the testing of half a sovereign,
the opening and shutting of the till-drawer; and occasionally Miss
Ingamells exclaiming to herself upon the stupidity of customers after a
customer had gone; and once Miss Ingamells crossing angrily to fix the
door ajar which some heedless customer had closed: "Did they suppose
that people didn't want air like other people?" And now it was a
quarter past four. Undoubtedly he had a peculiar, and pleasant, feeling
of importance. In another half-minute he glanced at the clock again,
and it was a quarter to five.
What hypnotism attracted him towards the artists' materials cabinet
which stood magnificent, complicated, and complete in the middle of the
shop, like a monument? His father, after one infantile disastrous raid,
had absolutely forbidden any visitation of that cabinet, with its glass
case of assorted paints, crayons, brushes and pencils, and its
innumerable long drawers full of paper and cards and wondrous perfectly
equipped boxes, and T-squares and set-squares, with a hundred other
contrivances. But of course the order had now ceased to have force.
Edwin had left school; and, if he was not a man, he was certainly not a
boy. He began to open the drawers, at first gingerly, then boldly;
after all it was no business of Miss Ingamells's! And, to be just, Miss
Ingamells made no sort of pretence that it was any business of hers.
She proceeded with her own business. Edwin opened a rather large wooden
water-colour box. It was marked five and sixpence. It seemed to
comprise everything needed for the production of the most entrancing and
majestic architectural views, and as Edwin took out its upper case and
discovered still further marvellous devices and apparatus in its
basement beneath, he dimly but passionately saw, in his heart, bright
masterpieces that ought to be the fruit of that box. There was a key to
it. He must have it. He would have given all that he possessed for it,
if necessary.
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